


Forever to Abide

by CupidAtTheFlight



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-27 22:42:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2709344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CupidAtTheFlight/pseuds/CupidAtTheFlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack's jealousy of Phryne helping an old flame causes him to kick her out of City South, for what he hopes will be the last time. But Miss Fisher has other plans that include pulling a gun on our beloved inspector! Spoilers from Season 1 and 2. The title takes from a poem by Thomas Watson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I don't want to have to shoot you, Jack.

Jack Robinson closed his eyes, reminding himself to breathe. There sat Miss Phryne Fisher, uncomfortably close, her startlingly red lips cocked into a half-smile. Propped on the corner of his desk, she crossed her shapely legs under her white, pleated skirt as if nothing had happened.

"You need to take yourself home now, Miss Fisher, before I surrender to the urge to put you behind bars," he said through gritted teeth.

Phryne brushed the sleeve of her black and white floral-print jacket and rolled her eyes. "Now Jack, you cannot still be cross."

"You pointed a gun at an officer of the law!" he barked at her, but Phryne simply waved his comment away with the white gloves in her delicate hand.

"Nonsense, Jack, I pointed the gun at you," she tossed the gloves neatly into her lap, "and we both knew I wouldn't have shot you."

Jack raised his eyebrows. "Did we? I don't recall being privy to that piece of information."

_"I don't want to have to shoot you, Jack," she said, standing above him with her golden pistol in hand. "But we just need a moment more to find the keys."_

_"Phryne, what in the hell are you doing?" Jack hissed, watching as she motioned to the burley, clod of a man known as Philip Carson, who stumbled to his feet and lumbered to the brick wall. His thick fingers felt along the crumbling mortar. Jack forced his gaze back to Phryne, trying to shut out the image of what those oversized hands had done with the woman standing before him._

_Phryne's smoky eyes locked with Jack's. His expression offered her one final plea to give up her gun. One last chance to choose him._

_Ever since that lummox Carson barreled past Mr. Butler and disrupted a very pleasant nightcap Jack was having with Miss Fisher, everything felt perched on a tipping point. The way Carson begged for help from "his little Phryne," Jack could see there had been something between them. Through the days that followed during the murder investigation of Carson's friend, Jack supposed he should have been relieved to find out Carson was just a former dalliance, one of the many flings she collected. But watching Carson smile at Phryne gave Jack a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach._

_He knew what was wrong. Ever since Jack mistakenly believed Phryne was dead in a motor car accident, he had resigned himself to the idea that he would lose her - either through her own recklessness or from boredom on her part. He allowed himself no illusions. It was the thrill of solving crimes that kept her close to him. When she tired of it, she would move on. And with her would exit the brightest light in his rather dreary existence._

_Still Jack could not help looking for signs that what he and Phryne did together meant something more. That HE meant more to her than her frequent "distractions." But when all the evidence pointed to Carson as the killer, Jack got his sign. And it came in the form of the woman who meant more to him than anyone pointing her pistol right at him._

_The hollow scrape of concrete let Jack know Carson had found his loose brick. He glanced over to see the man's dark features flood with relief. With meaty hands, Carson pulled a pair of keys from a hole chiseled into the bottom of the brick. The keys that proved his innocence._

_"Well done, Phil," said Phryne. Jack felt his insides clench as a smile spread across her lips._

Now Phryne sat on the edge of Jack's desk as if she hadn't sided against him, as if she hadn't put herself in between Jack and a man wanted for murder.

She sighed. "Don't be so dramatic, Jack." Phryne reached out to brush an invisible speck from his blue, wool jacket. "A wronged man has been set free. A real murderer is behind bars, and justice is done." With her hand still at his shoulder, she leaned in until he could feel the whisper of her breath against his cheek. "Does it matter that a few laws were bent in the process?"

Jack's voice hitched in his throat. Did it matter? That wasn't the question he wanted to ask. He knew Phryne Fisher did not give one whit for the law. Did HE matter? Did he matter to her? Jack closed his eyes, but all he could envision was Carson barging in, begging her to help him. Telling Phryne how much he needed her. I need you. Oh, the irony that those were the exact words that lingered on Jack's lips the moment before Carson burst into the parlor. But it was Carson who said them. And Jack imagined countless others who had said them to Phryne before him.

Clearing his throat, Jack rose quickly from the chair. Startled only a moment, Phryne quickly recovered and leaned back on her hands. "Surely you can't believe there was any danger from me," she offered, with that slow smile that made his breath quicken.

Jack knew what she was doing, providing him a way to continue their witty repartee. He knew he should respond with something along the lines of I'm always in danger of you, Miss Fisher, but instead he sighed.

"No, Miss Fisher," he said quietly. Maneuvering around her silken-clad legs, he moved to his office door. "I know you would never intentionally cause danger to those for whom you care." Jack looked pointedly at Phryne. "So Philip Carson had no reason to worry."

A beautifully arched eyebrow rose in response to Jack's comment. Sliding gracefully from the desk, Phryne took the few steps to the door with purpose. "Jack Robinson, do you mean to tell me you think I care more for Phil than I do for..."

"To whom you throw you affections is your business, Miss Fisher," Jack interrupted sharply. He grasped the door handle. "What you do during a police murder investigation is mine." Turning the knob he began to pull open the office door. "I'll ask you not to come to the station again unless expressly invited by an officer here."

Phryne blocked the door from opening fully with the toe of her patent shoes. Jack's eyes shot to her, ready for fight. Instead, she simply observed Jack for a lingering moment. Tilting her perfectly bobbed head to the side, she told him, "I'll leave without a fuss, Jack."

"Will wonders never cease," he murmured. But then she slowly raised the hand that bore her gloves to his lips. The move was meant to silence him, but the smell of her perfume on the gloves wafted over him in an intoxicating wave. He swallowed heavily.

"I will go, if you will tell me the real reason you are angry with me," she said quietly. Lowering her hand, she looked at Jack. In her eyes, he saw no teasing, no flirting, just a need for truth.

Jack lowered his eyes. "Perhaps, Miss Fisher, I see a glimpse of my future in Mr. Carson. And I do not like what I see," he said, leaving the rest unspoken. Discarded, temporary, forgotten - all the things Jack dreaded when Phryne tired of him.

Phryne searched Jack's face. She moved a step closer to him and opened her beautifully curved lips, seeming to (uncharacteristically) choose her words carefully. But before she could speak, Jack used the opportunity of her movement to open the door further. Several startled officers, including Collins, jumped back from the opening door and launched into flurried action. Jack rolled his eyes.

Turning to Phryne, he reclaimed his professional tone. "I have answered your question, Miss Fisher. Now I trust you will keep your word." Jack motioned to the open door.

Phryne pondered for a moment before a defiant gleam settled in her eyes. Placing her black hat delicately on her head, she threw him a smile that belonged firmly on a Cheshire cat. "I'll go, Jack, but this conversation is far from over," her words bore a steady promise.

Jack met her gaze for moment before his eyes reverted to the ground. He watched as her black heels moved swiftly through the door. With a slightly shaking hand, he eased the door closed.


	2. Forever to Abide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor Jack, so in love and thinking he cannot hold Phryne. She has some ideas how to convince the dour inspector otherwise.

Please, don't let me be too late, Jack's thoughts screamed as he willed his legs faster. Launching himself up the path of Phryne's St. Kilda home, he crashed through the door, revolver drawn and Collins only a second behind.

Hearing glass shatter, he dashed into the parlor, calling "Phryne!"

There, seated primly in a chair, was the very woman. Standing next to her was a wide-eyed Dot, staring helplessly at a tray that had once held glasses, now in a heap on the rug.

Phryne lifted her eyes to the men struggling to catch their breath in her parlor. "I'd offer you a drink, Inspector, but it seems we've had a mishap."

Dot whimpered as she surveyed the cracked glasses and amber liquid pooling onto the rug. Her face shot to her fiancé. "Hugh Collins!" she declared. "What is the meaning of all this?"

Hugh stood, bug-eyed and stuttering, "Miss Fisher...emergency...You...you all right, Dottie?"

Dot threw her arms in the air. "Of course I'm all right. I can't say the same for this poor rug." Bending down, she gingerly scooped pieces of broken glass onto the tray and mopped up the spilled whiskey with her apron. Hugh stumbled over to help.

Jack remained stock still, his eyes locked on Phryne. Dot made her way into the kitchen with an apologizing Hugh in her wake. Slowly, very slowly, Jack holstered his gun, fearing he might be tempted to use it in the next few moments. Clamping down on his seething anger, he walked in silence toward her.

He stopped in front of her chair, but she did not look up. Through gritted teeth, Jack muttered, "Of all the reckless, selfish, foolish things you have done, Phryne Fisher, this is, by far..."

Phryne rolled her eyes. "I've done far worse than this, Jack, and we both know it." She glanced up at him. In that moment, he was unsure whether to pick her up and shake her, or indulge the feeling of relief that flooded him when he saw her safe and sound. "But thank you for responding to my invitation."

"Invitation?! You told Collins I needed to be here at once. That it was an emergency," Jack snapped.

"It is an emergency, Jack. Our partnership is in danger," she said simply, and set her glass on the table next to a large, ornately carved wooden box with pearl handles.

Jack clenched his hands tightly. "How could you do that to Hugh?" he hissed, motioning to the kitchen. "With the number of times you have courted danger in this very house." Jack whipped off his hat and shoved a hand through his hair. "You should have seen his panic." Phryne bit her lip, and at least had the good courtesy to look slightly embarrassed. And his reaction mirrored my own, Jack thought, remembering the distinct sensation of the world falling away from his feet when he heard she might be in danger...again.

"I can see - in light of past events - how my message may have been a bit...imprudent," she said. "But you banned me from the station."

"Because of utterly thoughtless actions JUST LIKE THIS!"

Phryne sighed. "Are you through bellowing, Jack?"

"I doubt I have even begun, Miss Fisher."

Standing slowly, Phryne looked at Jack. Without letting her gaze leave his, she produced a small, golden key in her hand. Stationing it between their faces, she glanced at the key, then back to Jack.

Jack remained motionless, refusing to play her game. Each time he ended up dancing to the pied piper that was Miss Fisher. Even now, standing so close, his senses were swamped with the smell of her. He felt useless, utterly useless to resist her. His mind drifted back to an old poem, Her thrall my heart I render/ Forever to abide.

Her voice broke the trance. "Aren't you going to ask me about the key, Jack?"

"No," he said, determined now to leave, though his feet refused to move.

Her smoky, blue eyes locked with his once again. "Would you consider me sentimental, Jack?"

Jack sighed. This was a woman who could walk over dead bodies, stare down killers, and shunned society's heavy hand. It was one of the things that made her fascinating, made her Phryne. Though he refused to respond, Jack already sensed he had - once again - surrendered to the sirens' call that was Miss Fisher.

Without waiting for his answer, Phryne took the key and inserted it into the slender lock of the box. Lifting the lid, she reached in and pulled out an item. "Do you remember this?' she asked, holding up a faded, blue ribbon.

Jack's brow furrowed for a moment. "Of course. It's Janey's ribbon." How could he forget the look of shock and devastation on Phryne's face when she found that ribbon in her room the night of her cousin's engagement party? They had raced through the night together to save Jane from Murdoch Foyle. Jack's blood chilled when he thought of Phryne facing that madman and how she collapsed in his arms with the drug coursing through her veins.

Phryne nodded. She replaced the ribbon with care, and pulled out another item. This was a small ticket, a train ticket Jack realized. The words emblazoned on it read "Ballarat." Jack threw Phryne questioning glance.

"This was when I met Jane. It may seem rather morbid to keep the ticket of a train where a woman was murdered, but for me this is the place I found Jane." She slipped the ticket back into the box. This time she removed a peach-colored feather. "This was from my first fan dance," she said, a wicked glimmer flickered in her eyes as Jack felt the unwanted flush on his cheeks.

"That dance mean a lot to you?" he asked thickly, then quickly cleared his throat.

She nodded, staring at the feather. "It did, because I realized later I'd met someone who would not judge me." She released the feather and it floated back into the box. Next Phryne pulled up a seashell. Running her delicate fingers along the rough edges, she said, "This is from Queenscliff, where I had a lovely picnic of fish and chips in the sand."

Jack swallowed hard. He remembered that beautiful, windy day, lying next to Phryne. Her floral hat catching the breeze. For a moment, they could have been any ordinary couple, not two people waiting to see if their trap to catch a killer worked. Somehow it touched him that she had picked up a shell from the beach that day. He glanced down to see it resting in her pale fingers.

Phryne gently set the shell down, and pulled out one last item. Jack's breath caught in his throat as he spied the long maroon and green scarf from the footie match. "And this," she said softly, "was from a glorious day I sat next to a man who knows who I am - a reckless, foolhardy, Collinwood girl."

Struggling for a thought, Jack fixed his gaze on her. Phryne motioned to the chair behind him. Warily, he eased into it. Folding the scarf in her hands, she knelt next to him. "Jack, I know we do not have the typical relationship." He snorted a small laugh, but glanced back at her, letting her continue. "We've both seen death, and come out the other side."

He gave a hint of a nod. The war had changed him. It had her as well. Death itself did not hold sway over them, but they both felt compelled to see unjust deaths receive resolution. Yes, Jack agreed silently, they both came out the other side.

Phryne placed her hands on his knees. "If you want to know the truth, Jack Robinson, I've been with you longer than any other man in my life. You will never be anything fleeting, or temporary." With a small shake of her head, she added, "And I simply cannot imagine life without you around."

"Until the day you can," he whispered. Jack wanted to believe her, wanted to hold onto the proof that sat in that box. But what could keep him from becoming just a lovely memory?

Phryne pulled herself up on her knees to face him. "Do you think me so shallow, Jack? So empty?"

Jack shook his head. "No, no. I think of you as sunlight itself, Miss Fisher," he said softly, giving her a fleeting smile he hoped would hide his hopeless thoughts. "Yet sunlight does not stay, nor should anyone try to contain it."

She eased his face into her cool hands. Jack closed his eyes, his breath staggering slightly at her touch. "Jack, I am flesh and blood. I assure you," she whispered, and brushed her lips gently to his.

He froze for a moment before slowing opening his eyes. He searched her gaze and once again found no mocking, no flirtation. Sliding his hands along her chin, he struggled to find the words. "Phryne," he finally whispered, as if her name held sway with the gods. A radiant smile broke across her features, and she closed the small gap between them, capturing his lips in searing kiss.

For once, Jack refused to hold back. He snaked his hands into her hair - as soft as he'd always imagined. As her lips met his over and over, Jack infusing all his months of desire, of longing, of hope for her into one desperate kiss. When he pulled away, both of their breathing was ragged.

"Jack," she whispered, and he could swear her voice was flushed with awe.

Before he could respond, Collins marched in from the kitchen. "Sir, I...oh! Sorry!"

Jack stood up quickly, accidentally knocking Phryne back onto the rug. He immediately reached for her. "My apologies, Phry...Miss Fisher," he said.

Phryne laughed lightly as he pulled her to her feet. "Any time, Inspector," she said with a sly grin. Jack struggled to suppress a smile. The flirtatious Miss Fisher had returned, and just in time. He had always feared the moment he surrendered to Phryne, thinking it would shatter what they had and spell the end of their time together. Yet somehow in that smile, Jack saw a promise that she had no intention of vanishing into the night, snatching away her light. Instead, he had the suspicion she planned to use all that was uniquely Phryne to banish his own darkness. Though he still could not convince himself that he could have her forever, Jack made a silent vow then to glory in the time they had.

Looking at Collins, whose gape appeared ready to swallow his entire face, Jack asked, "Ready to go, Constable?" Hugh nodded slowly.

Jack walked to the edge of the parlor, slowly sliding his hat back on his head. He turned and looked at Phryne. "Shall we continue later, Miss Fisher?

The sun then smiled at Jack Robinson, and she told him, "I look forward to it."


	3. Taking Back Jack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why would Phryne pull a gun on our beloved Jack? Why, to make sure she did not lose him, of course! The events from Phryne's POV.

Phryne watched Jack leave the parlor. At the sound of the door closing, she slowly sank into the chair, fingers brushing across her lips still tingling from his kiss.

She had been so close – too close – to losing him. Ever since Phil lumbered into her well-kept parlor, Phryne felt Jack slipping away. Worst of all, he hadn't simply been slipping away from her. It was as if Jack had been losing himself.

In the past, she had been on the receiving end of Jack's frustration, his joking barbs, even his anger. Yet over the past few days, a cold resentment had settled into his once-warm and always mesmerizing blue eyes. She had endured that time he pushed her away, determined to give her up rather than change her. This time, however, the distance between them felt vastly different. It was as if he meant to punish her, and himself in the process.

For weeks after the Sanderson case, Phryne held herself back. It took an extraordinary self-control – more than she knew she even possessed – not to wrap her arms around Jack when she saw him. Each time he looked at her, whether over a glass of whiskey or beside his worn desk at the station, Phryne wanted desperately to close the gap between them for good. Yet she contented herself with small gestures. She straightened his tie here, brushed off imaginary dust from his jacket there. Phryne knew Jack, and if she wanted him, she would have to wait until he made the first move.

It was a unique form of torment, waiting for Jack. If he thought it infuriating to work alongside a modern woman, she would like to have him know it was nothing compared to waiting for an old-fashioned man.

Of course, just as Jack once said, she would never ask him to change. It was all part of him – the wit, the intelligence, the passion that burned under the composed surface. And Phryne wanted all of him, the strength of his heart as well as his hand.

How odd that she realized she loved Jack Robinson the same moment she was willing to give him up. There he stood at the base of her staircase, and she was ready to send him back to ex-wife, just as she had sent Lin Chung back to his fiancé. They were both honorable men, who did the right thing.

_Not always, Miss Fisher_ , he had murmured to her.

If not for her aunt's ill-timed interruption, Phryne knew she would have come to Jack any way he wanted. Yet when she closed the door behind him, what gripped her was not simply desire, but fear. It was not the thrilling, fleeting fear that surged through her when she ran down a dark alley or gripped the throttle of an airplane. This was a fear that went far deeper. It reminded her of a line from a poem by some Elizabethan writer - Waters? Watson? Fear cold as ice, and Hope as hot as fire, he wrote. When she thought of Jack, both burned equal measure.

In the very depths of her, Phryne knew Jack would be an adventure like no other, and one she would not want to end. To be with Jack, Phryne knew she would need to surrender the walls of safety she had erected over the years. The ones fortified by growing up in poverty, losing Janey, suffering at the hands of Rene DuBois.

It was a snowy evening when she opened the door of the aunt's mountain retreat. There stood Jack, shivering, braving a storm to ensure her safety. In that moment, her walls fell, and Phryne was lost to Jack completely.

After that, each night she hoped Jack might surrender as well. It was the same the night he sat with her in the parlor after the case of the missing jade.

_She held a cool piece of jade in her fingers. Jack raised his eyebrows. "I'm still not convinced that shouldn't be in evidence, Miss Fisher," he said, a playful tone dancing in his voice._

_Phryne held the smooth brooch in the air. "This was not part of Lady Burton's collection that was stolen, and she thought it only fitting it come home with me." Placing it alongside her cheek, she batted her eyelids. "She said it brings out my eyes." Jack choked back a laugh into his whiskey, and Phryne turned to him. "Well, Jack, perhaps we will come across a sapphire smuggling ring, so we can pick something up that will match those lovely blues of yours."_

_He shook his head, but his smile remained. "I'm afraid it wouldn't suit, and I'm not the sort who needs jewels, Miss Fisher."_

_Closing her hand around the brooch, Phryne leaned in closer to his chair. "Tell me Jack, what does a sort of man like you need?" Silently, she willed him to say it – to say he needed her, so that she could admit the same._

Of course, it was at that very moment that Phil Carson lumbered into her parlor.

In the days that followed, Phryne watched Phil become more than an inconvenience, more than a temporary interruption between her and Jack. Yet the more she tried to drop hints that Phil meant no more than a rather exerting afternoon, the more Jack snapped and snarled. Soon, each theory of hers was dismissed, then nearly every word. Even Collins' eyes bugged wider than usual when Jack ripped her head off at the station. And when flimsy evidence pointed toward Phil as the possible killer, Jack seemed ready to convict the hapless man without a trial.

All of this Phryne might dismiss as misguided jealousy – if in fact he was jealous. Yet the day before the case came to an end, Jack had been almost cruel, and that poor creature Elsie was caught in the wake. In the past, Jack had always taken great care of the older woman, seeing she had a place to sleep off a bad run with alcohol. But Phryne's latest argument with Jack had been a brutal one.

_"Honestly, Jack, tell me. If Phil wasn't a past acquaintance of mine, would you be taking this paper-thin accusation seriously?" she demanded._

_Jack turned on her. "I don't think honestly is in our best interest, Miss Fisher," he said in a low voice._

_Phryne raised an eyebrow. "Would you care to explain that, Jack?"_

_Jack leaned toward her. "I don't think you want my honest opinion of your continuing need to collect men like they were coins, and discard them at your leisure."_

_"Jack!" she huffed, but in the face of his accusing glare, Phryne felt her temper rise. "I don't hear any of them complaining," she hissed._

_Nodding slowly, the disdain in his voice barely masked as he answered, "No. I imagine you discard them too quickly to hear anything."_

_Phryne froze, her eyes narrowing. A retort danced on her lips about discarded men and divorce, but she bit her cheek in silence. Long ago, she had made a promise never to give satisfaction to those who judged her. Turning on her heel, she walked out of the office, trying to suppress the sick, churning feeling that her tormentor was the one man she believed would never judge her._

_Storming toward the door, she bumped into Elsie, who was the worse for alcoholic wear. Collins edged past them and peeked into Jack's office._

_"Sir, Elsie is here. Would you like her in..."_

_"COLLINS! This is not a personal resort for every bloody woman in Victoria with a problem! Send her home!" Jack's voice boomed into the waiting area and his door slammed shut._

_Elsie shrugged and staggered toward the door, but Phryne caught her arm. "Hugh," she whispered. Collins nodded. He grabbed the keys, took Elsie's arm and led her to sleep it off in a cell._

_"And that is quite enough, Jack Robinson," Phryne said to herself, and walked out._

The next day, Phryne received a clue about the location of the missing keys – a piece of evidence that would clear Phil and put an end to this wretched case. She sent word to Jack that she and Phil were heading to the old factory. Well, word of a sort: This bloody woman plans to find the missing keys at the old factory, she wrote.

What she did not know as she and Phil set out was that Phil's alibi for the evening was also the murderer of his friend, and that lout was lying through his teeth to Jack to make Phil sound as guilty as possible.

They made it to the second floor office – her in heels no less – when Jack raced onto the main floor. "Phryne!" he shouted.

"Up here," she called, too busy pawing the crumbling brick to catch the note of panic in his voice.

Jack barreled through the office door moments later. Phryne turned to see his revolver drawn. "Philip Carson, you are under arrest for the murder of Stan Lechez," he said, shoving the giant man up against the wall.

"Jack, what are you doing?" Phryne demanded. He ignored her.

Phil whimpered against the wall. "I didn't do it. I swear. I wouldn't hurt Staney. Phryne, tell him." When he turned toward Phryne, Jack forced Phil back to the wall with an unnecessarily forceful shove and jammed his revolver back into the holster.

"Really, Jack, if you would give us a moment to find the keys, we can clear all this..." Phryne began.

"I think you've done enough for one evening, Miss Fisher," he said in a low voice, and reached into his coat for his cuffs.

Phryne leaned toward Jack as he jammed his hand in his coat. "Jack," she said quietly, "you know this isn't right. This isn't like you. Stanley Lechez deserves justice."

Jack pulled his cuffs from his pocket and leveled his gaze at her. "Who is to say what anyone deserves, Miss Fisher?" he asked.

Phryne took in the sight of Jack, and noticed the fatigue dogging his handsome features. A hopelessness shadowed the anger in his eyes. I'm losing him, she thought, her hands numbing with fear. But I haven't lost him yet.

With a determined air, Phryne's eyes narrowed. Turning back to the wall, she propped her hands on her hips. "In which section do you think he would hide the keys, Phil?" she asked simply, as if inquiring about the time of day. If she wanted her Jack back, she had better start acting like his Phryne.

Phil looked up to a spot slightly out of Phryne's reach. "Right," she said, and jumped up to tap the bricks and see if one would come loose.

"Miss Fisher! That is enough!" Jack snapped, reaching for Phil's hand to slap on a cuff. He paused when he spotted Phryne leaping for the next row of bricks.

Phryne continued. _Jump. Slap,_ "Do you" _Jump. Slap,_ "mean to say" _Jump. Slap,_ "you would rather see" _Jump. Slap_ , "an innocent man hang" _Jump. Slap,_ "than take five minutes," _Jump. Slap. Crack!_ Several loose bricks gave way and tumbled toward her.

"PHRYNE!" Jack yelled as she ducked out of the way of the falling debris, leaving an odd-colored brick wobbling above her.

"That must be it!" Phil called, and shoved Jack to the ground. He scrambled toward Phryne.

Jack whirled around, and Phryne knew he was reaching for his revolver. The Jack she knew would never shoot an innocent man. The Jack she knew would want justice for the murdered. The Jack she knew would never forgive himself if he hurt a man who was only trying to find who hurt his friend. And right now, the Jack she knew was lost in a slate of anger for which she felt wholly responsible.

Now it was her turn to save Jack.

Before he could reach his gun, Phryne pulled out her pistol from her pocket. "Jack, stop!" she called. He spun around, and his eyes fixed on the gun in her hand. For a split second, she feared he would charge Phil anyway and call her bluff. Instead, Jack blanched as if hit with a deluge of cold water. He looked at the gun, then back at her.

"Jack," she said slowly. "I don't want to shoot you, Jack, but we just need a moment more to find the keys." And I need a moment more for you to remember who you are, Detective Inspector Jack Robinson, she thought.

Jack closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He clenched his fists, but Phryne thought she detected his body relaxing just a fraction. When they opened again, Phryne thought she might just recognize her Jack in that gaze.

"Phryne, what in the hell do you think you are doing?" he hissed.


	4. Not Just in Flesh

The clink of whiskey glasses accompanied the melodies of Jelly Roll Morton drifting through the parlor.

Jack had practically raced to her house after his shift at the station, but once through the door, he couldn’t decide if it was appropriate to sweep her into his arms. So he settled for the drink she pushed into his hand as he pulled off his hat.

"Here’s to an evening together without old flames or guns,” Jack said, tilting his glass toward Phryne.

She smiled slowly, “Whoever thought we’d drink to that?” she replied and took a sip. “Of course, we both know my little stunt was for your own good.”

Jack blinked. “I’m sorry?”

Phryne tilted her head. “We both know you would have locked up an innocent man while on your recent rampage.”

His brows knitted as Jack stared at the expecting look on her face, anticipating, what? An apology? “Rampage?” he rolled the word around on his tongue. Jack set his glass gently on the fireplace mantel. “Do you think my ...” he nodded in her direction _rampage_ might have had anything to do with the way you flagrantly took over a police investigation – again – and showed no respect for the law or for my job?”

With a raised eyebrow, Phryne follow his lead, placing her glass next to his. Her porcelain fingers began a staccato beat on the mantle. “Well, perhaps if you had not been in such a rush to convict the first suspect you met, I might not have had to take over.”

Color infused Jack’s cheeks. “And perhaps, if you did not have a past … _association_ with the suspect, then you would have been more objective in your reckless investigation.”

Phryne tossed aside his remark with the wave of a hand. “Nonsense, Jack. You know I have every capability of separating the physical from the facts of a situation.”

Frustration coursed through his features as Jack ran a hand over his hair. “No, I do not know, nor do I understand.” His voice remained low as he struggled to hold onto his temper. “You possess no ability to separate criminal activity from non-criminal activity. In fact, you flagrantly bend the laws to your will when it suits you, and yet you are telling me you can separate your objectivity from a man with whom you have … have…”

“Known in the biblical sense?” Phryne offered. Throwing her hands to her hips, she stared him down. “I make no apologies for how I live, Jack. But I would like to point out that if I were a man, you would be congratulating me on my exploits. And we certainly would not be having this conversation.”

Leaning into her defiant glare, Jack yelled, “You are right about that, Miss Fisher, because I would never feel about a man the way I feel about you!”

Phryne froze for a moment before her fighting stance gave way. “Jack,” she said quietly, taking a step toward him. But Jack stepped back.

“It’s no use, Phryne,” he said, unable to meet her gaze. He sighed with a resignation from his depths. “I don’t think less of you for your zest for life. And I don’t want to judge you for living as you see fit. But I’m not built that way.” He stole a glance at her questioning expression. “For someone to want to be with you, and know it won’t mean the same for you as it will for him. Well,” he laughed without a trace of humor, “that might be enough to drive a man insane.” “

Or cause him to yell at an old woman?” Phryne asked almost teasingly. She closed the short distance between them and placed her hand on his arm.

Jack exhaled slowly. “I raced after Elsie the moment you left. When I found her in the cell, I could not apologize enough.” Jack looked at Phryne, then slowly closed his eyes. “Do you know what she said to me? ‘I always liked you, Jack. So you better fix it up with that girl of yours before you lose sight of yourself.'” He eased his hand over the top of Phryne’s as she gently squeezed his arm. Gazing into her eyes he said, “I’m sorry if I lost myself Phryne.”

Phryne smiled. “Oh Jack, if we start apologizing for every wrong, I’ll be here all night. I must have done at least one thing to you every day since we’ve met.“

“At least,” he said with a nod, and gave her a small smile as she nudged him in protest.

Stepping in front of him, Phryne placed a hand on his cheek. He leaned into her cool palm. “But tell me, Jack. What would it mean to you? Us, together? Because I can tell you what it would mean to me.” She drew his face closer to hers, so that their foreheads touched. “It would mean taking you inside me completely. And not just in flesh.”

His breath staggered and his eyes closed once again. “I am talking about all of you becoming part of me. And I’m not even sure we need the physical for that, though I am sure you are magnificent in the area, Jack Robinson.” He shook with gentle laughter.

Phryne placed her other hand along his chin. “You accuse me of not respecting your work, and perhaps that is true. I think the rules of society are an illusion, only set down to stave off the chaos we’ve both seen through war and death.” She caressed his cheek, running her hand slowly into his hair. “But I also know you see those rules as the only thing that keeps chaos in its place, and _that_ – you – I respect, Inspector. Your sense of justice is as much a part of you as the burr of your voice that reaches within me to a place I though impenetrable.”

She bushed her lips along his cheek, trailing where her hand had been a moment before. “Perhaps it is selfish of me, that I should ask you _not_ to change. But I do so want you the way you are, Jack.”

Jack slid his hand along her arm, until his fingers covered her delicate ones resting in his hair. “I would so hate to disappoint you, Miss Fisher,” he whispered, and drew her mouth to his.

Now it was Phryne who clung to Jack, letting him taste her, drawing on an urgency she had contained for months. He finally broke away, gasping, “Tell me this is a beginning, Phryne. Tell me this is not a memory to be locked in a box or just a moment to be remembered fondly. I no longer feel like myself without you. And the thought of not being with you ...” he shook his head to chase away the feeling. “You have become so much a part of my own happiness is scares me.” He kissed her lightly. “You have unclasp’d the book ever of my secret soul.” “

Even Shakespeare does not do you justice, you beautiful man,” Phryne whispered. She looked into his mesmerizing eyes. “Is this how forever begins, Jack? Our forever?”

 _Forever_ _to_ _abide_ , though Jack, as he pulled Phryne back toward him with the word _yes_ ghosting his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this recently on fanfiction, but this is my first foray into Archive of Our Own. I have come to love this collection of Miss Fisher stories.  
> Have found I have fallen in love with music from the era as well. Diving into Jelly Roll Morton and Tuba Skinny. Anyone else have other suggestions?


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